Of Water
by L. Burke
Summary: Jim Murphy reflects on Dean Winchester and water.


Title: Of Water

By: L. Burke

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: Jim Murphy reflects on Dean Winchester and water.

Author's Notes and Acknowledgments:

This story vaguely references Rid's stories "In Victus" and "The Thing With Wings" with a little foreshadowing to those stories. Hopefully readers will catch where. ;

I'd really love to hear what readers have to say about this piece. This piece is a complete experiment for me. So I'd really love to hear what reviewers have to say both good and bad. And depending on how well part one is received, I have two other parts "Of Earth" and "Of Fire" planned. Sam's "Of Earth" is about three quarters finished and Caleb's "Of Fire" is plotted out.

I do not own the quote by Leonardo daVinci or the lyrics by Robert Johnston presented in this piece. No profit is being made.

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Of Water

_**Like water, be gentle and strong. Be gentle enough to follow the natural paths of the earth, and strong enough to rise up and reshape the world. — Brenda Peterson**_

Water had a transient, fluid nature.

Being of water was both blessing and a curse.

Jim Murphy could still remember in vivid detail the feel of Emma lips on his. How she felt as he held her in his arms as they danced. Recalled how her smooth curves he could rub against and get lost in. The way she wrote how she loved him on every inch of his skin. Those things anchored him. Emma's feel and smell cemented him in the here and now. The tie helped him remember and had stopped him from drifting into his own head too deeply.

Water's ever changing nature gave remarkable resiliency. Its ability to circumvent obstacles gave unique insights and creativity. A world centered on feelings and instinct. It allowed one to fall deeply in to a dreamy world of what had caught one's imagination. The ability to imagine things, like terrain, in vibrant detail had saved Jim's life more than once.

After Jim had lost Emma he came to understand how vital grounding anchors to the present were. They were like how a river needed the shoreline to lead it to the sea.

Without them you could get lost.

Drift.

It was a warm evening with promise of spring finally slipping the last cold grasp of winter. The soft breeze carried the smell of old leaves and the very first hints of spring buds. The landscape in front of him was erupting in to a carpet of green. In the distance he could feel the water trickling with the spring thaw. He closed his eyes. In his very bones he could sense the water as it made its journey to the rivers and down to the sea. Bringing the much needed nutrients and silt to nurture the land for the upcoming growing season. It was the eternal circle, the yearly heartbeat of the continent. It was the dance of death and renewal.

Jim surveyed the structure in front of him. The building had been his farmhouse's slave's quarters once a very long time ago. These days it served as a workshop. Bobby had rebuilt the crumbling structure from the ground up. It was a place a Hunter could work with more volatile elements away from prying eyes and without worrying about endangering either animals or property.

It was the place Dean tended to flee when he wanted to be alone.

Jim understood.

He had his wood shop.

He too needed the feel of something flowing through his hands at times. It gave him the ability to sort, categorize, and focus the constant river in his head.

_Are you stupid?_

John Winchester's angry words still echoed with the power of a fist.

It had been the first time Jim had ever fought down the urge to hit his friend. John Winchester was as adapt at lethally aiming words as he was weapons.

Dean wasn't stupid.

Far from it.

The true struggle was trying to convince Dean of that.

"Dean?" He called softly as he stepped inside the workshop.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the building the Guardian in Jim could feel the energy charge of the protective wards in place.

Powerful ones.

Deep, colorful, and multilayered like the ocean.

Dean.

The boy's pure raw talent was truly breathtaking.

Protective wards were as unique as the people that cast them. Each had a distinct feel to them. Caleb's were warm, fire like. Sam's were unbending like rock. John's shot out like destructive solar fares. Josh's felt like a slight breeze brushing pass you. Bobby's had the feel of iron.

However these wards felt like the absorbent water in a sun cherished tropical lagoon. These were like a warm, reflective, nurturing sea that given the right circumstances could turn storm churned and deadly very quickly. If you meant harm to the ones within these wards could be very lethal. You could be swept away and drown in them.

_No magic may pass…_

The Guardian in Jim chuckled amused as the wards inlaid warning vibrated through him. It would have been enough to send a lesser mystical talent scrambling.

Jim was of water, however.

A Guardian.

One with the morning mist.

There was no magic on Earth that could stop him if he wanted to pass.

As he drifted effortlessly through the wards Jim shook his head as he viewed the disorder in front of him. Only Bobby's junkyard appeared outwardly more disorganized. Like Jim's cluttered study there was order and logic to the disarray in front of him. Much like the weather what appeared to be chaos in front of your eyes really had very intricate underlying patterns to it. Jim had no doubt Dean could find anything he needed to with very little effort.

Body memory was an incredible thing.

Jim knew.

John Winchester couldn't understand that. John was too grounded. Dean was anal about what he did, not necessarily where he lived. He was the opposite of John and Sam that way. When he felt safe Dean was too focused more on his rich, inner world to keep trivial things neat and orderly around him. He was too busy living in his own head. With Dean his hunter's journal, guns, and weapons stayed neat and organized. Everything else was fluid and up for negotiation.

A trait that truly annoyed Dean's father and brother.

Direction. Flow. Momentum. Resistance.

That's how Dean Winchester experienced life.

Jim let his shields down to let the boy sense his sudden presence.

Dean jumped straight up from the chair he was lounged in.

Shocked.

The teenager flew in to a fighting stance and gave Jim a wide eyed stare for a few moments. Dean relaxed, and snorted, "So much for warding magic warning me when someone is coming. Bobby is full of it."

Jim shot the boy a cocky grin. "I AM Merlin my dear boy. If I can't trickle by some simple protective warding it's time for me to hang up my wand."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I would. Caleb has learned that lesson the hard way on several occasions." Jim winked at him. Then the Guardian gestured to the seat across from Dean. "May I?"

Dean sighed and sat back down. "It's your property."

Jim sat down and studied the teenager in front of him.

Looked at him with eyes beyond and saw what others couldn't.

A place where power crossed and Heaven and Hell would meet. Like a shoreline the walking embodiment of all things fluid, transit, and in between. This Guardian had learned the hard way that the price of truth was innocence. That where the tendrils of power crossed innocence came at a steep price and truth was hard won in blood.

Jim prayed that some day this boy would understand where it seems like the end of the world for the caterpillar that the butterfly recognized it was the beginning of all things.

Transformation.

That was the rapid filled path of water.

"You're not stupid," Jim began bluntly. "You're father should never have said those words to you."

"You'd be in the minority opinion these days Jim." Dean exhaled loudly. "Right now my father thinks he can't trust me to walk a cup of water through a rainstorm."

"I understand things your father doesn't." Jim shot him a sad smile. "I think your father forgets sometimes. People tend to see the world and others as only reflections of themselves."

"You obviously haven't heard Sammy's rants about being a member of the Addams family." Dean lifted an eyebrow.

"You keep life interesting my dear boy, the occasional exploding machine and all. " Jim chuckled. "Your brother is going to have his own difficult path to walk towards accepting who he is. It's not a job you can do for him."

"I suppose you're right."

"You know I am," Jim replied. "And that's half the problem isn't it?"

"Yeah well, that doesn't make it any less humiliating when Sam doesn't even crack a book and aces the same test I studied hours for and flunked." Dean sighed. "Most times I don't mind. You know? Water off a duck's back. Sam's a geek. He takes great pride. His report cards go on the refrigerator to get bragged about and mine don't. I get it. I accept it. This last test just burned. I did study for it. Just once I just wanted Dad to give me that same look of pride he gives Sam."

"It didn't work out that way did it?" Jim asked softly.

"No," Dean retorted bitterly. "It never does. Why do I try? Sam got an A+ and I got a C-. Sam got the 'great job'. I got the 'Are-you-stupid-why-can't-you-do-better-in-school-and-be-more-like-your-brother-what-would-your-mother-think' lecture. It started with the 'Damn it Dean, why can't you manage to do one simple thing' and went from there."

Jim shook his head sadly. Then he slowly started to speak.

"_Water is sometimes sharp and sometimes strong, sometimes acid and sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet and sometimes thick or thin, sometimes it is seen bringing hurt or pestilence, sometime health-giving, sometimes poisonous. It suffers change into as many natures as are the different places through which it passes. And as the mirror changes with the colour of its subject, so it alters with the nature of the place, becoming noisome, laxative, astringent, sulfurous, salty, incarnadined, mournful, raging, angry, red, yellow, green, black, blue, greasy, fat or slim. Sometimes it starts a conflagration, sometimes it extinguishes one; is warm and is cold, carries away or sets down, hollows out or builds up, tears or establishes, fills or empties, raises itself or burrows down, speeds or is still; is the cause at times of life or death, or increase or privation, nourishes at times and at others does the contrary; at times has a tang, at times is without savor, sometimes submerging the valleys with great floods. In time and with water, everything changes"_

"Leonardo daVinci." Dean smiled softly at the quote and hugged a book to his chest. "I get him you know? He loved to build."

"Indeed," the pastor smiled. "The inventor was obsessed with the paradox that is water. I think that's one reason I was always drawn to his art. Sometimes we forget the greatest human intellect in history was the product of a machinist shop and a forest stream. Not the product of a university system."

"Or attention deficit disorder," Dean muttered. "Sam loves to point that out to me."

"I think your brother simply can't appreciate da Vinci's rather flowing, liquid temperament," Jim replied thoughtfully. "The man was constantly bubbling from one interest to another. You're brother is much like a continent. Once he sets his course he doesn't care what he has to grind down to get the destination he desires."

"Yeah, that's Sam alright," Dean muttered dryly. "If he wants something, it's a boulder down hill, just get out of his way."

"Add your father to the mix and you get lovely volcanic explosions too," Jim winked. "But I think you truly admire Samuel's ability to stand like a rock on matters of principle."

"Very true."

"Dean, look at me." Jim commanded. The teenagers green eyes met his. "I want you to remember these words: _To thine own self be true. _There are going to be days where that is going to seem to be nearly impossible. But hold those words in your heart."

"Jim? Is there something wrong?" Dean blinked and was quiet for a long time, absorbing. "Okay…I promise." The teenager's head suddenly snapped up. "Sam's coming."

"Excellent," Jim praised. Dean heard so very little of it. Unfortunately Jim wasn't the person Dean desperately wanted to hear those words from. "Your wards are doing exactly what they should do."

"Dean!" The eleven year-olds voice called as he ran in. He took a deep breath to catch his wind. "You gotta come see!"

"Whoa! Calm down." Dean announced as he grabbed his brother's shoulders. "See what?"

"Dad." Sam's dark eyes lit up with glee. "He tried to walk in to the Tomb and got blasted across the room. Then you should have seen it. He started spewing water like a fountain. I came to get you because Caleb's too busy howling."

_No magic may pass…_

Oh dear.

"Dean, my boy," Jim began calmly. "Did you practice any of your warding magic in the tomb?"

"Well, yeah. Your rules remember? In the house, only in tomb." Dean blinked in shock. "Wait. Are you telling me I did this?"

"Did you use the words 'no magic may pass' or 'no_ evil_ magic may pass'?" the pastor asked bluntly.

"But… I." The teenager's eyes got wider as the implications of Jim's words sunk in.

"Hmm… No magic? Does this mean that when Dad tries to enter the tomb again with his silver ring on he's gonna get knocked straight on his ass all over again?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Samuel! Language!" Jim snapped.

"Sorry Pastor Jim." Then the eleven year-old rubbed his hands together. "This is going to be SO good."

"Samuel!" Jim rebuked.

"What?" Sam demanded. "This is a lot more fun to watch than the usual Tequila knocking Dad on his ass."

"Enough. Go!" Jim pointed towards the house. "I want you to run back and warn everyone to remove all magic objects before they try to enter the tomb."

"Do I have to?" the child whined. Then a curious light lit up Sam's dark eyes. "Wait! Could I see what it does to Josh first? He's a witch right? I could con him in to…"

"No!" Jim commanded. He tried to push the panic at the mere thought of Josh hitting those wards out of his mind. His house might not survive those mystical energies clashing. It would be like a category five hurricane coming ashore with a large storm surge. Not much would be left standing in its wake. "Do it NOW Samuel!"

"Fine." Sam sulked. Then he turned and ran back towards the house.

"No way." The teenager muttered as he got up to follow his brother. "I mean… How? Me?"

Jim lifted an eyebrow as he stood up and started walking towards the door.

"Umm… There's only one problem." Dean shuffled back and forth on his feet. "Bobby never _actually_ got around too teaching me how to remove wards. Well… He kind of didn't teach me what I was casting either. I kind of got bored and jumped ahead in the book. Dad didn't want Bobby teaching me any of the advanced stuff."

"I see." Jim took a deep, cleansing breath.

Then the Guardian closed his eyes, gathered his energies, and gently reached out towards the direction of the house and the tomb.

Jim hit the Mariana Trench.

Water so powerful, dark, and crushing.

"Dean?" Jim opened his eyes and rocked back on his heels a little. The raw power shocked him. "What precise aspect of water did you visualize when you cast those wards in the tomb?"

"Sixteen thousand pounds of crushing pressure per square inch." Dean announced proudly.

Water's power at the deepest point on Earth.

Why wasn't he the least bit surprised? No one but Dean would have thought of it.

_Are you stupid?_

Jim sent an annoyed snort in his friend's direction.

Right.

He sincerely hoped hitting those wards hurt.

A lot

Jonathan more than deserved it.

On the evening breeze drifted gentle feminine laughter. Like the soft sounds of wind chimes on the air.

Apparently someone found this all very amusing.

Dean tilted his head curiously. "Did you hear that?"

"Oh, indeed," The Guardian chuckled.

"Really?" Dean's green eyes widened. "Does it sound like a woman too you too? I looked for the source a couple of times. I'm the only one in my family that can hear it. Dad says it's the wind and Sam says I'm hearing things."

"Perhaps." The Guardian replied mysteriously. "I believe it's time we headed back to the house and found a way to undo those wards. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean blanched. "Dad's gonna be pissed."

Knowing how John Winchester felt about magic.

Jim had little doubt that assessment was undeniably correct.

They slowly walked pass the pond heading towards the house. Dean slowly started humming. It was an old habit that Dean still did when he was upset or nervous.

"_I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
Asked the Lord above "Have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you please"_

Jim recognized the old tune immediately.

Robert Johnston's "Cross Road Blues".

Suddenly a baying howl came from the thickening darkness.

The sound made the hair on Jim's neck stand up on edge.

A howl tainted of evil.

The Guardian put himself between Dean and the possible threat.

"Did you hear that?" Then Dean rubbed his hand up and down his arm like he was cold. The Guardian wasn't surprised Dean could feel the power drifting on the night air. Then he shot Jim a sheepish grin. "It's weird. Kind of like suddenly someone is walking over your grave."

"Indeed." Jim looked down at the grassy patch of grass next to the pond the two of them stood on with a sudden horrible knowing. Then his eyes were unexplainably drawn up to the rising moon on the horizon. The moon was the domain of the angel of tears and solitude. The powers of Heaven and Hell danced tonight. "On the other hand, maybe we'll work on undoing those wards tomorrow."

Deep inside Jim could only laugh.

Little did those two bickering brothers understand.

Dean was of water.

He would carve his own path.


End file.
